


Learning to Live Without You

by fancypearl



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce does his best, Diana is a sweetheart, F/M, I love Clark Kent more than myself and you can tell, Lois has a lot of thoughts, Lois kinda blames bruce but not really, Martha is too pure for this world, POV Second Person, it's complicated - Freeform, post-bvs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancypearl/pseuds/fancypearl
Summary: "He told me that I was his world and then he went to die." You whisper, and your eyes are slightly unfocused as you turn to look at her. “That’s what he said.” 
"... Didn't he know that he was my world too?" 
(Lois is grieving, and she figures she has to deal with it eventually)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time doing second person P.O.V- So any mistakes are my own. I just thought of this when I woke up, and it's haunted me all day lmao.

X

You stay in Smallville for a week after his funeral.

You tell yourself that it’s for Martha’s sake, but the truth is you can’t stand to go home. You haven’t been to the apartment (the apartment you shared with him) since he…

You still can’t stand to even think the word (you’ll probably never be able to say it). 

You can’t stand to say the word, because he’s not dead- not really. You see him every time you turn your head. You see a little boy with a mop of curly hair, and suddenly he’s back and you can imagine running your fingers through his hair, watching the curls bounce back to place. 

You see him everywhere, to the point that it feels like it would be better to not see at all (which is… such a selfish thought- you know this). 

But he’s everywhere and it hasn’t been that long; you are not ready to face this. But damn it, you must face it because to get over it- you got to face it. 

In the end, it just causes a whole lot of pain, you’re not ready to face. 

(Your life seems to have a distinct before and after).

He may have taken a piece of you with him, and he didn’t even know it (you want to blame him, so badly. How dare he leave you. Leave this world. Even if the world hated him… You LOVED him. That should have been enough. Why the hell was that not enough?) 

(But God damn it, you loved him so much). 

You face this pain, sooner then you thought. After a week of living with Martha, and helping her with the farm (even that brings back unique Clark memories) you need to go back to Metropolis. 

Perry is starting to worry and there’s only so much you can submit online. 

Perry understands. He always understands. You don’t know if he thinks you’re mourning for Superman or Clark Kent- but it doesn’t matter… He understands. 

(If you’re being honest with yourself- it wouldn’t surprise you if Perry knew that Clark was Superman the whole time. He’s Perry, after all.) 

Before you leave, Martha rests her hand on your face, and her hands are soft and warm, and you can’t help but lean into her embrace. 

You close your eyes, because she smells like home (Like honey and a home-baked meal; she smells like Clark). 

She pulls you into her embrace, and you can feel her hand on the back of your head. Her voice is gentle, when she speaks to you. “Please take care of yourself, sweetheart. And, please, don’t be a stranger.” 

‘Please take care of yourself’ 

Her voice is so gentle towards you, and it only wavers slightly at the end. You haven’t cried much since his funereal, feeling oddly numb through the whole ordeal.

You feel yourself nodding. You can feel tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, and it hits you so hard that you almost fall backward. 

Maybe you needed Martha more than she needed you. 

X

Returning to the apartment you shared with him- the home you made with him- is unexplainably odd and it feels like you’re not yourself.

(It wasn’t even a home, at least not yet- but when you look down at your left hand, you’re painfully reminded that it could have been a home). 

(It doesn’t matter, in the end. It will never be home now). 

When you stop at your front door, you remember that you forgot the mail downstairs. 

You make a move to go get it, but you can see your neighbor (a kind old lady… She loved Clark) peeking around her door, and looking at you. 

You make brief eye contact with her, and you can see her expression and you hate it so much that you want to tell her off. 

In the end, you don’t say anything. You can’t blame her for pitying the neighbor girl who lost the gentlest boy the world could ask for. 

(You pity yourself, but you would never admit it). 

Your hands shake as you unlock the door, and before she could say anything- you’re already inside.

You shut the door behind you, and lean against it. You close your eyes, so you don’t have to see the apartment, and you feel for the doorknob so you can lock the door behind you. 

The door is locked, and you’re suddenly painfully aware that you cannot move. You cannot open your eyes. You’re painfully aware that if you open your eyes, you’ll have to deal with it again.

(You contemplate going back to Martha’s. What’s a few more months of farming?) 

But, instead, you clench your fist and hit the door gently. You take a few deep breaths, and you open your eyes. 

You wish you would have kept them shut. 

His shoes are still next to you, and you’re reminded of all the times you would complain about almost tripping over his shoes in the morning 

(“You farm boys are too messy!” You would shake your head.)

(He would mumble a tired apology and move them out your way, you couldn’t miss the playful smile on his face). 

You can’t stand to see the pictures on the end tables. So, you hurry over and turn them face down- willing yourself not to look at his smiling face. 

(You’re a coward. You’re such a coward but you cannot face that beautiful smile- not right now). 

But it’s no use, because his laptop is still on the kitchen table. His glasses are placed right beside it. There is still fresh squeezed lemonade on the kitchen counter… And his hand-written notes (reminding you of due dates, because you are oh-so-forgetful at times) are placed on the refrigerator. 

You shake your head, and force yourself not to cry- not to break. You’ve cried enough. You didn’t deserve to cry. You lost a boyfriend (a fiancé), but Martha lost a son- she lost her baby boy. 

(But, damn it, you loved him so much). 

You hurry to the bedroom, with the full intention of sleeping until the next morning (it’s only four in the afternoon). 

But when you lay down in the bed, and turn your head- his side of the bed is still messy, and there’s that perfect picture of you and him and he’s smiling- and it’s big and it reaches his eyes (his beautiful eyes). 

And suddenly, you remember the smile he gave you before he left you to go die. You’re reminded of his soft words, and your hands on his soft cheeks. 

Before you can control it, tears are streaming down your face. 

You bring your hands to your face, and look at the tears on your fingers- and you look at them like you’ve never cried in your life. As if the mere idea of crying is foreign to you.   
And suddenly you’re laughing- loud and frantic, and almost giddy. 

And then, damn it, you’re sobbing. Loud sobs that make your body shake with the force, and suddenly you’re a child in your father’s arms. The sobs don’t even sound like your own. 

You’re facing it.   
X  
When you return to the Daily Planet, you try to act like nothing happened (which you hate yourself for, because… is this how you honor him? All that he’s done).   
You somehow get up that morning, and you take a shower because your hair was getting a bit greasy but taking a shower required leaving your room- and leaving your room is harder than you would like to admit. 

(You’re having a hard time admitting a lot of things lately). 

You curl your hair, dress yourself, and wear your favorite heels because you figure if you want to feel like anything is the same- you need to treat yourself. 

It’s when you enter the kitchen that you find it a bit harder to keep the façade up. You’ve grown so accustom to the smell of breakfast in the morning, of your curly haired boyfriend (fiancé) at the stove, without a shirt on. 

(You always get so worried that he will burn himself, because he’s not wearing a shirt, and he’s by the stove. You always remind yourself ‘he’s made of steel; he cannot get hurt’). 

(He wasn’t supposed to get hurt. You were wrong about that one. You should have worried. He could always hurt himself). 

Clark always used to tell you that you would starve without him. You can’t cook. It’s not one of your virtues, because you’re a city girl and you live on take-out… 

But he was homegrown, and he could cook (maybe even better than his ma, but he would disagree and you would never dare to say it). 

Maybe he was a bit right, because you turn your head from the empty kitchen and head out the door. You’re painfully aware that food is probably spoiling in the refrigerator, but you don’t want to enter a room that he always inhabited. 

(Which was hard because he made the whole place unique and interesting and it was empty and cold all the time; You’re still dealing with that). 

Once you leave the house, you’re happy to note that it seems like it could be a normal day. The sun is out (Clark looked like the sunlight; he thrived on sunlight), kids are riding their bikes (Clark always had to ride that damn bike to work; You always told him a car was much easier), and you could smell some sort of food stand from down the street (when Clark first moved to Metropolis he was shocked to see an actual food stand and it was so cute). 

(Maybe it’s not the same, but you can try to act like it is). 

When you enter the Daily Planet, no one says anything to you. Jenny flashes you a smile and Perry places a hand on your shoulder as he walks by, holding on a little tighter than he usually does. But there is no loud ‘LANE!’ coming from him, and he doesn’t seem that bothered that your deadline is rapidly approaching and you haven’t written much. 

You sit down, and know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help to turn your head. You almost expect to see Clark standing there, leaning against your desk like some 16-year-old, but he’s not.

It doesn’t hurt until you look across and see his desk. 

It’s empty and it shouldn’t be. 

You look up and see Perry. He’s staring at the empty desk too, and you’re aware just how empty the whole building feels, and you wonder how you can act like nothing happened. 

But you’re going to try to live on, because he’s gone. 

(Perry looks up at Clark’s desk periodically through the day). 

(He yelled “KENT!” a lot too, now that you think about it).

X

Living your damn life isn’t going too bad. You go out with Jenny and you talk (and she tries to send you her condolences but you change the subject quickly, and she gets the message). 

You buy a cookbook. You buy some ingredients and feel so proud of yourself when you stand in front of the oven and attempt to make a pasta dish.

It sucks.

(You cry for an hour and then eventually wipe your tears on your sleeve and dial the number for Chinese take-out because, really, you can’t starve). 

Someone at work attempts to ask you if you’d ever consider dating again, and half of the women on the floor nearly rip him a new one, and you find that you’re thankful because it wouldn’t be very professional to slap someone in the face. 

(But you’re not ready to date, and you never will be- probably). 

(No one can be Clark; no one can have his blue eyes and curly hair… His heart and his gentleness). 

(He’d made love to you so gently, and was so vulnerable). 

(He was so gentle. Why did no one see that?) 

All and all, things are doing okay. You’re living just fine and you call Martha whenever you can, to make sure she’s doing okay. You lost the love of your life, but she lost her miracle that fell from the sky. 

You’re doing just fine. 

Then, just like everything else- that changes, with a simple knock on the door. 

You look up from your computer and at the door suspiciously. You’ve stayed in the house so much lately that you’ve practically memorized what everyone’s knock sounds like. 

This one is strict and firm, and you’re not quite used to it. 

You stand up anyway and make your way to the door. You unlock the door and then unhook the chain just above the doorknob. 

(After getting kidnapped by Lex Luthor- you can never be too careful). 

(Clark wasn’t here anymore). 

You open the door and when you see who stands on the other side, your breath leaves your body. You feel a slight twitch in your fingers and your knees are shaky. 

It’s Bruce Wayne. 

He’s the last person you want to see, really. Deep down, rationally, it wasn’t his fault that Clark was gone. It wasn’t his fault. You know this- but it’s deep down. 

On the surface, you feel nothing but rage. All you can see is his foot on Clark’s throat. All you can see the pain on Clark’s face, and the cut on his cheek. All you can see is the man who wanted to rid the world of the gentlest soul you’ve ever known. 

All you can see is that damn spear that he made to destroy Clark; the same spear that Clark used to destroy himself. 

(It’s so easy to hate him, but it’s not his fault… It’s really not). 

(But you are kept awake every night with the thought of ‘whose fault is it’? Is it yours. Maybe it’s yours. You could’ve held on tighter. You could’ve begged him to stay. You shouldn’t have let him go). 

(Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve… It keeps you up.) 

(In the end you want to blame the world, that would be easier). 

You’re forced out of your thoughts by the sound of Bruce clearing his throat. You look up at him and his face is different from when you last seen him- he looks less jaded. 

(Clark gave him hope). 

(But losing Clark made you lose yours). 

“Lois I need your-“ 

You slam the door in his face. You lock it before he could attempt to come in, and you can’t help but wonder if he expected you to do that. 

You don’t know why you did it, and it was instinct really. You need someone to blame and you don’t want to blame yourself, and you don’t want to deal with the fact that Clark made the decision to give up his life for this planet. 

(His world). 

(The world that refused to love him). 

You walk around for a bit, in almost a circle around the living room. 

You clean, which is odd for you, but you do it anyway because you need to do something. Bruce Wayne was just at your door and you need to do something to keep from playing your favorite game of ‘whose fault is it anyway?’ 

Finally, you call Martha. Your fingers are shaky and you get the number wrong. You finally get the number right (after accidently calling a teenage girl whose name wasn’t ‘Martha’). 

When she answers, you don’t expect to cry, but you do. You suddenly find yourself spilling everything to her, and you know she can barely understand you but she makes gentle   
hushing noises anyway, as if you were Clark. 

“Lois?” She says. 

“Hmm?” You answer, worn out from all the crying. 

“He paid for the funereal. He’s trying to honor Clark; I’ve talked to him.” She says gently. “He comes here every weekend. Apologizes about a hundred times each time I see him.” 

“It would just be so easy, to hate him.” You whisper. “To hate all of them.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, I know.” She says and her voice is gentle and you’re once again reminded of Clark. “I know, but Clark wouldn’t want that.” 

You smile gently and you know that it’s true. Clark wouldn’t want you to be full of hate because of him and it’s the first actual smile you’ve managed in months. 

(He was so good and you were so hateful now). 

When you hang up with Martha, you decide you should go out to look for him. You should at least hear what he had to say, it could have been important. 

You grab your coat and open the door, and your shocked to find that he’s still standing there as if nothing had happened. 

“I need your help.” He says once more. “I need help, finding others… Like Clark.” 

You don’t say anything. 

“They’ll be safer this way…” He continues. 

You don’t need to hear anything more. 

If it prevents someone from losing their loved one, the way you lost Clark- you’re in. 

X

It surprises you, really, how much Bruce and Diana become some an intricate part of your life. You help them find these meta-humans; you gather information anyway you can and it feels like you’re just out for field work. 

(You and Diana are at Bruce’s a lot these days, and somedays it’s fun.) 

(Other days you don’t talk much). 

These meta-humans are interesting in their own unique way, and you feel the need to go home and tell Clark but you always remind yourself he’s not there. 

(You’ll have to do that for the rest of your life). 

You focus mainly on finding civilian identities and special abilities (even though, you’re sure Batman has that down, but you need to feel useful). 

You don’t talk much about Clark. 

But there’s this one day. 

To be fair, you’ve never actually heard anyone talk about superman. His death seemed to be this big cloud over Metropolis, and everyone expected that he would just fly back down one day. No one talked about it. 

That’s why you are surprised and sickened to hear the words “he’s better off dead…” come out of some lady’s mouth. 

You turn your head and it’s two middle-aged women. If you look hard enough you think you recognize one of them as one of the protesters outside the Capitol Building. 

You give them the benefit of the doubt. You tell yourself maybe those disgusting words are meant for someone else; maybe they aren’t talking about your Clark. 

(The man next to them looks uncomfortable but he doesn’t say a word). 

You keep telling yourself this. But you’re proven wrong when the lady continues her rant, the other woman shifting her weight on one foot and then the other. 

“Thank God, if you ask me.” She hums. “He could have destroyed the world. We’re better off with him being dead. No one should be that powerful. He wasn’t human.” 

(But he was human, you want to scream. He cried and he laughed, and he held onto you like you were the last thing on Earth- and screamed when he had to take a life with his own hands. He loved you. He loved his Ma). 

(He was more human than this woman). 

(You hated this woman and you hated every person who never showed Clark that they loved him).

You feel a roaring in your ears, and your blood feels like ice. The barista repeats your name twice before you look up, and he has the cup of water you ordered (because you always order a cup of water with your coffee). 

You mumble a thank you and grab a hold of the water. He tells you that your order will be out soon, but all you can hear is the lady running her mouth behind you.

You don’t even think. All you can hear is the words “he wasn’t even human” roaring through your head. Before you can stop yourself, you turn and suddenly the water is all over the woman and she lets out an indignant gasp. 

You drop the cup on the floor and turned to the barista who is shocked and appalled. 

“Forget about the drink.” You say, and it comes out harsh and rough and you walk out of the door before you get in a fight with a soccer mom in an uptown coffee shop. 

You don’t tell anyone about this, until you’ve had a few drinks with Bruce in the batcave- and Diana is smiling fondly at you, and Bruce is barely buzzed but your words come tumbling out and you’re giggly and honestly the best you’ve felt in months. 

“You threw water in her face?” Bruce smirked. 

“Feisty.” Diana smiles, placing her hand on your shoulder and her grip is firm but gentle. She could break you in half. But she’s so gentle. 

(Like Clark. But you don’t wanna cry right now. Not when you feel so good). 

The three of you grow quiet as you wait for the giant computers in Batman’s batcave to decipher something that you can’t be bothered to think about. 

(At this point, you just need the company. You don’t want to admit that you’re not needed anymore). 

When Bruce leaves for a moment, you turn to Diana. You’re leaned back in the chair and you smile softly at her, and she smiles back.

“It’s so nice… That this is all for Clark. He would be proud.” You slur. “He wanted to give so much hope, y’know. Always out there… Giving people hope.” 

Diana nods and you feel bad when you realize that she didn’t know Clark. She had known him just in the fight and she had carried his dead body to you. 

“I can see it.” Diana says, but she’s not looking at you anymore- she’s looking ahead. “The city feels a bit darker now, I think.” 

You nod. “But you guys are gonna change that. You’re gonna make sure his memory lives on. Make sure that everyone remembers him.” 

“He won’t be forgotten.” She says, and she holds onto your hand. 

But her words make you stop- because, they can remember what he stood for. But they won’t remember Clark, and you hate that you find yourself forgetting the way his voice sounded. 

“I’m scared I’ll forget him.” You whisper. “I don’t wanna forget Clark.”

She looks at you, and there is pity on her face. But it’s not the type that makes you want to scream. It’s mixed with something that can only be described as empathy- and then you remember…

“Oh God!” You giggle, and she jumps slightly at your outburst. “You’re literally- You’ve fought in a war; I’m over here crying about how I’m scared of forgetting Clark but you… I never think.” 

She’s looking at you differently now, and you realize that there are actual tears in your eyes. You thought you were passed crying, but there are tears in your eyes. 

“Lois, my pain does not make your pain any less.” She says, and tightens her hold on your hand. “You’re allowed to hurt. It never gets easier.” 

You nod, and you suddenly feel so trustful towards the woman you barely know. This actual Goddess. You find yourself telling her something you’ve never said to anyone, not even Bruce. 

“He told me that I was his world, and then he went to die.” You whisper, and your eyes are slightly unfocused as you turn to look at her. “That’s what he said.” 

She doesn’t say anything to you. You appreciate it. 

“He told me that.” You say again. “But didn’t he know that he was my world too?” 

X

It’s an odd day, not particularly eventful. You had the weekend off, and for some reason- you decide to spend it in Kansas, with Martha. 

(If you’re being honest, something feels off that day) 

You sit with Martha and just talk. You tell her about the justice league, and about how they were finally all together. You tell her about Cyborg, The Flash, and Aquaman (even though he was still unsure about whether he would consider himself part of the league). 

It’s easier now, you can bring up Clark and it doesn’t hurt as bad. 

(It still hurts, but you figure it will always hurt). 

(It’s not a special day, but it feels off). 

You help Martha cook, and she lets you do the slicing but she does everything else. You eat with her, and you talk about Clark when he was little- and how he would run around with a red sheet tied to him like a cape. 

(You’re both happier for some reason). 

You go to bed, and that should be it. You expect to wake up in the morning in Clark’s old room, and maybe help Martha around the farm and maybe attempt to cook breakfast for her.

But you’re woken up by a scream downstairs, and you shoot up right away. You think it’s a dream at first and maybe you’re reliving an investigation gone wrong, or Clark’s death all over again. 

But you hear it again, and its Martha.

She’s screaming your name. 

You jump out of bed before she can scream again, and your heart is racing. Your brain is thinking a million bad things at once. You nearly trip down the stairs, and you’re expecting Martha to be hurt. 

(And, God, you would have to save her. You’re not Clark, but you would have to do). 

When you reach the bottom stairs, the front door is slightly ajar. Martha is on the ground, and she’s holding something. You blink a couple times, trying to clear your tired eyes.   
You see a leg, a foot. 

She’s holding a person. 

You squeeze past Martha, expecting to see someone bleeding. You look down… And you nearly faint. The world almost goes black, and your brain is trying to figure out just what the hell you’re looking at, because that looks like Clark, but Clark is dead. You held onto his dead body and all of that couldn’t have been a bad nightmare.

But there he is. Eyes open just barely, covered and caked in mud. His curls (the ones you loved so much), are matted together and he’s nearly choking on the dirt in his throat. 

“L-Lois, please help… H-He can’t breathe.” Martha sobs, and you’re suddenly thrusted back in the real world. 

You fall on your knees and Martha lifts him up, just enough so you can help him cough up the dirt that’s in his lungs. He falls back down, and he’s weak. His eyes are barely open. 

But you can feel his heartbeat under your hand, and you can feel his steady breath. 

He walked this whole way. Just to come back home. 

You wrap your arms around him and you’re crying. You’re crying harder than when he died, and you’re crying in his hair. You’re kissing his dirty face, and he’s trying to mumble your name but you shush him. You tell him to close his eyes, he’ll be okay. 

(But you’re so damn scared he’ll leave you again in his sleep). 

Before you know it, Martha has her arms wrapped around him as well. 

You look down and he’s smiling, because he’s home. 

X

After the initial euphoria of Clark literally being back from the dead wears off, you and Martha clean Clark up- and he’s still weak, but he can speak now. His voice is rough and his sentences are short, but you’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. 

You help Martha lay him in the bed, and she goes to call Bruce (she worries that it’s too late, and you assure her that it’s not an issue). 

He’s not quite asleep, but he’s somewhere in between. Your fingers are running through his hair and your other hand is on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his steady breathing. 

There are words on your tongue but you don’t know what to say. 

“You left me.” It comes out gentle, and you’re happy with yourself because you could never yell at him- not now. “You told me that I was your world and you left me.” 

“Lo… I…” He licks his dry lips, trying to make words. 

You shush him. “You don’t have to speak. I just need you not to die again, okay? Don’t do that to me. Don’t make me go home to an empty apartment. I don’t want to re-learn how to live without you.” 

Clark mumbles something that sounds like “I’ll try”. 

You kiss his forehead, and cup his face. 

“You are my world.” You whisper. 

X 

It’s not easy, getting in the hang of things. You stay in Smallville for a while; you, Diana, and Bruce think of a way to ease Clark back into society and explain his sudden reappearance.

(When Bruce and Diana first see Clark, they’re both in shock; Bruce apologizes and Clark forgives him over and over. Bruce feels like he doesn’t deserve Clark’s forgiveness, but you remind him that he does. He always did). 

It’s not easy because, Clark doesn’t know how to not be superman. You constantly remind him that he needs time to heal, that he needs time to be Clark Kent again before he becomes superman once more. 

(He hates being useless, but him being here is a blessing- he could never be useless to you). 

(It scares him that he may have to drift from name to name once more, and you try to convince him that he’ll be okay; you’re always saying ‘you’ll be okay’). 

He’s forced relearn how to block out sounds, and there are times when you wake up and he’s hyperventilating at the edge of the bed and you gather him in your arms and whisper in his ear, and rub his back. 

(“I’m here. You’re okay. Just breath.” You say this like a mantra. Like it will make the pain go away). 

(You’re never afraid of him hurting you. He’s still Clark. He’s still gentle, but things are hard for him). 

(It’s hard to remind yourself that things will get better). 

He has nightmares of dying. He wakes up screaming and you hold onto him, bring his hand to his own chest and remind him that he’s alive, that he’s breathing. You remind him that he’s not underground anymore. 

(There are times where you catch him looking at his chest; there’s still a scar. It kills you that he’s reminded of it, until his powers fully return and he can go back to being invulnerable). 

It’s kind of a process, helping Clark get through things. At one point, you wonder if things will ever be normal. 

One night, it’s not Clark who has a nightmare- but it’s you. In your nightmare, he dies over and over. You watch him die. You watch him get ripped apart by another Kryptonian deformity. You hear him scream over and over. You hold his dead body in your arms, over and over. 

(It’s more of a memory, really). 

You wake up, crying. But before you can jump out of bed, a pair of strong arms pull you back. It’s a warm embrace and it reminds you of home. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, and you place your head on his chest. He’s so warm. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He whispers to you. “I’m okay.” 

He’s okay. He’s home. 

You fall asleep to the sound of steady breathing. 

(You dream of a little boy with curly hair and bright blue eyes).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


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